So Long and Thanks for the Airship
by vieralynn
Summary: Mentoring Ffamran in intelligence has rapidly become Judge Gabranth's lowest priority. Firing him would be preferable... if only he knew how. Balthier/Gabranth


_Originally written for lassarina at the Kissing Battle. Very minor edits from original._

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**So long and thanks for the airship…**

Gabranth was certain that someone, somewhere in the Archadian government had decided that he had been promoted too quickly and that he performed too thorough an investigation of the intelligence cases he took on. Gabranth was certain of this because he could think of no other reason why Cid's delinquent son had been assigned to him as his primary assistant.

Spend your time mentoring Ffamran, he was told. Show him how you do analysis. Give him some problems to chew on and see if the two of you can develop a model for identifying suspicious Rozarrian movements.

Prodigal son my ass, he snorted as he looked over the haphazard equations Dr. Cid's third-born had scrawled on the back of a large manilla envelop. If Ffamran put one quarter of his effort into modeling normative cross-border cargo movements as he did in taking three hour lunch breaks while nervously ogling busty barkeeps in Nilbasse, they might find themselves one step closer to an algorithm that could identify anomalous items in Rozarrian shipments to Nabradia.

Gabranth flung the envelop across his desk and it took sail in a perfect arc until it smacked the glass of his office window and slipped head first along the pane, string-tie flap opening and showering a stream of papers onto the floor.

I'd do anything to get rid of this nuisance, Gabranth grumbled as he stooped over to pick up the papers one by one. The thought of breaking his orders so he could take the cocky, gangly teen out for few hours of combat practice was becoming more and more enticing with each passing day.

And that's when he saw it: Drace's handwriting in the margins, Drace's notes on small yellow sheets stuck to the sides of the pages. One sharp inhale and Gabranth was back in his chair. These were documents on a project at Draklor, stamped top secret in red with Cid's signature on the cover page. Sweet Mateus! Just what is Drace investigating and what sort of half-assed threat is Ffamran trying to make?

And then he heard him. No, he heard both of them. Drace's throaty voice had risen into girlish laughter as Ffamran sauntered along side of her, stepping much too close as his hips brushed against hers.

"Your apprentice was telling me at lunch about how well you've been working together," Drace sang as she slowed her step by his door. "See you later," her lips mouthed just before she walked away.

Ffamran's slender body moved like a coeurl stalking his prey as he swaggered to Gabranth's desk and sat on it's edge. He even had the nerve to rest his hand on top of the Draklor papers as he leaned forward just close enough for Gabranth to smell a hint of wine on his breath.

"What is this supposed to mean?" Gabranth was not going to let this spoilt son of the top state scientist take any pleasure in thinking that he had bested a Judge Magister.

Ffamran was now leaning close enough that Gabranth could smell a faint flavor of curry on his breath. Bhujerban food. Drace's favorite place for lunch. Just what did he think he was doing?

"You're supposed to be head of intelligence." Ffamran's voice was too smooth for his age. "So I brought you some. Isn't that what you do? Investigate?"

"Aye." That one syllable grated in Gabranth's throat like rusted iron.

"Oh, and there is one other bit of intelligence a certain Judge Magister hasn't been so forthright about, at least, not with you."

"Which is...?" His glared into the young judge's eyes. Finding a way to sever his mentorship with Ffamran and send him back into the pool of analysts--if not out of the ninth all together--had now become Gabranth's top priority.

Eyes locked, Ffamran leaned forward until his nose neared the tip of Gabranth's. With an asinine smirk Ffamran slowly tilted his head to one side. Then, jutting his chin forward, his lips pressed firmly against Gabranth's. Curry, wine, defiance, and a quick flick of tongue. Gabranth remained stone-faced. He had made his decision about what to do with this delinquent and he did not care what his superiors would say.

Ffamran slid off the desk with an agile movement more akin to the wandering creatures of the steppe. He stood, languid and smirking, begging to be fired, but firing a Bunansa from a government post was unthinkable, just as arranging accidental dismemberment in combat practice was, unfortunately, not an option.

Gabranth yanked hard on the handle of his bottom desk drawer. He withdrew a fat, heavy envelop and flung it at Ffamran.

"New assignment." Gabranth pitched his voice low to maintain a steady tone and convey authoritarian control. "YPA Shipwrights has developed a new stealth airship for intelligence gathering operations. The test model just passed its initial test flights. Your assignment is to work with YPA's engineers and their test crew to determine how we should outfit the craft. Weekly reports by wire will suffice. I do not expect to see your face for a while."

To Gabranth's surprise Ffamran's eyes lit up as he brought the edge of the envelop to his lips and smirked. Then he turned and sauntered out.

Asshole.

Gabranth slammed shut his desk drawer. That should keep Dr. Cid's cosseted progeny out of his hair for the better part of six months. After that, he would need to find another dead-end assignment for the aristocratic annoyance.

What he hadn't bothered to tell Ffamran was that the ninth was going to shelve the YPA-GB47 Test Combat Fighter project. The damn dual-movable wing design on the airship was just as foolish as Ffamran. They deserved each other.


End file.
